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Seamel in the Spire
Tempest Spire: Outer Ring (Ground Level) ---- ::''As intimidating yet beautiful as its name suggests, Tempest Spire tests the eye's strength with a strenuous squint into the lofty heavens with its height. The interior of the base is fairly vast itself and divided into two pillar-partitioned chambers - an inner and outer. The stone of walls and floor is radiantly pure, a snowy white marble inset with slender, gold veins which, if studied closely, seem to all creep towards the center of the Inner Ring. ::''Upon entry into the Spire, one has four choices: to turn and go hence from which they came, turn to left and pace the dark pillar-lined corridors, turn right and mount the black marble staircase which spirals up into the abyss, or step forward into the illusory shining light of the inner ring. The latter option will bear you through four black marble pillars, two on either side, and into the mist-veiled glory of the Inner Ring. ::''The Outer Ring is lit by gold sconces on the wall, each designed to look like human hands. Eventually, this ring leads to the opposite side of the entrance (north) where a small alcove has been dug into the marble. In this alcove, measuring roughtly five feet in height, a white marble statue of a dragon stands, surrounded by stout candles in obsidian sconces. ---- Despite the fact that he's technically banned from Crown's Refuge, for some reason, Duhnen stands about in the spire's outer ring, unmolested by the Blood Guard for the moment. Sandrim runs in from outside, carrying a letter in his hand. His brow is furrowed, and expression thoughtful as he makes his way for the courier. Glancing over to the rushing wildlander, Duhnen watches idly, rustling some parchment he holds in his right hand. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he glances about in some mild worry and impatience. "Perhapsss I ssshould have sssent the lettersss from the beginning..." Hisses a voice from somewhere in the echoing chamber of the Tempest base. The bloodguards at the base of the stairwell shift a bit though, if that's any clue. "Fassstheld'sss Eliare comesss quickly, he doesss." Sandrim blinks, slowing down as he notices the Duke, and then the voice coming from up the stairs. "Oh, good evening, Archmage, your Grace," he says quietly. Turning slowly about at that unique hissing speech, Duhnen seeks out the source, a faint frown crossing his face. "It seems you knew just what to say," he replies after a long moment, speaking in a conversational tone, refraining from the urge to call out to the unseen speaker. His eyes react oddly, the Seamel opening them wider as pupils widly dilate, the man searching intently. "Evening," he adds as an afterthought to Sandrim. "Or isss it that you knew jussst how to lisssten?" Counters the Syladris, finally leaking out from between the guards, slithery half more or less puddling into a loose knot over the marble. Red eyes gaze vacantly through him there, her fingers writhing and picking with temptation at the air around her. Temptation to touch. A fang clamps over her lower lip in concentration. "You can sssee...many thingsss. The Ssshadow hauntsss you, hiding there, itsss home." As her eerie whisper ends, Tshepsi touches her right hand to her cheek in mirroring of his mark, and her horns bow. "Becaussse it isss forced to be sssecret in eyesss of sssome. Fassstheld's children are not free." Looking and realizing himself rather peripheral to the conversation at hand, Sandrim steps away, continuing over to the courier. "Can you get this to Varal Mikin?" he asks softly. "The Count?" Duhnen's lips part as if he were about to respond to Tshepsi, before he allows himself to remain silent for another moment. Brown eyes twitch and narrow slowly back to a more natural state as he begins to boldly move forward, considering the Syladris Archmage thoughtfully. "The journey would have taken too long, on my own," he finally responds. "My people need my guidance and vigilance. Things aren't so well in Fastheld." He pauses at a respectful distance, crossing his arms at his chest as he tilts his head. "Why do you call me Eliare?" "Becaussse they do," Tshepsi replies cryptically, horns tilting heavily aside as her head takes on a more playful pose, hands clenching at the low of her back. "Ssseamel isss not Sssemuel? For you were given the crown, the acaritsss...were you not?" Flicking her tongue at him, she lurches out of her resting state and advances her coils with a loose, winding pattern, to meet his approach with one of her own. "My people, all kindsss, need my guidance, too. They are afraid...we are all afraid. But the Archon and I cannot make peace in their heartsss until we ourssselvesss come into greater underssstanding. Time hasss run out for possstulationsss, you sssee. Many have been wounded, sssome of your own, and one hasss died. Her ssspirit lingersss here when the wind blowsss at the moon'sss peak. It comesss becaussse I sssang a sssong to her asss ssshe passsed from our world into the next. It likesss sssongsss...ssso the windsss and I sssing together. But the windsss cannot sssing to me all anssswers. And the Ssshadow keepsss sssome sssecretsss from me ssstill. I do not mean to betray it, but at timesss I mussst." Slowly, Sandrim walks forward to Tshepsi and Duhnen. "Another lies dead tonight," he says quietly. "Killed not by the gargoyles, but a wound to her thigh, where she bled out." Reaching into his amethyst cloak, his eyes fixed upon Tshepsi searchingly, Duhnen feels around for a moment, before drawing out a white bundle. He pauses at Sandrim's words, eyes darting to him. "...where did you find this woman?" he asks him as he carefully unfolds the bundle...and continues to unfold it, revealing a glowing circlet. It turns out that the wrapping of the silvery metal was actually that of a robe, and he offers the pair to the Archmage for her inspection. "These are what were placed on my head and my shoulders by the creatures in the cave in Fastheld so many years ago, when they spoke that name to me, and shuddered as if struck." Tshepsi takes the items hesitantly, fingers stilled from their nervous flexing. She does not look to Sandrim but bows her head in a moment of silence for the passing. "The flesssh isss fragile..." Let the Syladris antics begin. Archmage or not, Tshepsi simply examines the items in the Tshepsi way, which may seem more childish than wizened. Firstly, a staring contest with the circlet's runes while she pokes at the opal, torso sinking downward into a mess of ivory coils. "Crown of the acarit king..." she hisses and lets it rest lopsidedly over one of her horns as a holding place while she investigates the far more interesting robe. Said robe is hugged, stroked, nuzzled, and lastly licked. Yup. Definitely spidery. Soft, flexible, and virtually indestructible. Her attention falls in finality to one of the attached spiders. "Eyesss like the sssky...eyesss watching from their cocoonsss, waiting to be born. I sssaw them..." Tshepsi inhales deeply the scent, closing her eyes and cradling the garment in her lap. "A gargoyle brought it to the sealed cave," Sandrim says softly, looking at the relics passing between Duhnen and Tshepsi. It was trying to dig in, but we destroyed it." He pauses. "In it's own way... it's sad, but it's good news as well. The gargoyles had to be out before the cave was sealed." Duhnen doesn't comment on the circlet hanging off of her horn. He especially doesn't comment on the licking. No, he'll just leave that one behind. He does, however, slowly reach out and step closer to Syladris, muttering an apology. "Here," he points out as two fingers pluck at one of the ornamental spiders clinging to the robe, twisting the fabric carefully and almost seeming to be attempting to rip of off. However, he simply draws it closer to Tshepsi's face, allowing her to see. On the underside of the spider, there is the definite impression of two hidden arms, tucked tightly to the creature's abdomen. "Eliare, from what you said, isn't the Acarit King. And if I'm supposedly Eliare, why would they have crowned me?" he asks her pointedly, before glancing to Sandrim and nodding. "That woman was pulled from near the Aegis, out in the wildlands. It was the archers that shot her." "A king rulesss, controlsss hisss subjectsss. Ssslaying isss one method of control, perhapsss? But no, it doesss not explain why the creaturesss crowned you. Unlesss the Ssshadow told them to. It tellsss /me/ sssometimesss, to..." Trailing off, Tshepsi drops her finger from the enscription and looks with wonder to Sandrim. The robe slides free, forgotten, from her grasp. "Sssealed the ssstone. Ssseal the ssstone, ssseal the flesssh. Ssseal the flesssh but not the ssspirit." Tshepsi stares blankly now to both men, jaw quivering. The circlet sways precariously from its perch. "Ssseal...ssseal in ssstone, ssseal in flesssh..." Sandrim frowns at Tshepsi, loking up at her. "We... didn't succeed to seal it?" he asks. "Is that what you're saying?" The Seamel's eyes narrow at the Syladris as she begins to speak, reaching out an arm to Sandrim to draw him back. "She's speaking of the gargoyles, it sounds," he murmurs, watching guardedly. He glances about to the unfamiliar environment briefly, before back to Tshepsi, seemingly entranced as he waits. It's at that moment that Tshepsi's crimson aura seems to explode in its intensity, her widened eyes glaring into an abyss unseen as the energy flares from her mind's eye. Her body jolts and head lolls aside drunkenly while eyes roll blindly to her beloved sky. "Ssstone in flesssh..." She croaks and drops to the floor. The slow convulsion continues there, tail twisting and rolling, back arching to embrace her ears and seal in those whispers...or block them out. Sandrim looks over to Duhnen, worrying at his lower lip before to Tshepsi, watching her quietly. He reaches for his backpack then, rummaging about before he pulls out a pair of glowing blue gemstones, carved to look like a pair of eyes. They gently pulse, growing brighter, then fading. He holds these out without saying a word. "Shades," Duhnen curses quietly as she falls to the ground, looking upwards to the Bloodguard standing by the stairs intently. "...do something!" the foreign man demands, before dropping heavily to his knees before the writhing Archmage, hovering close by to intervene. "If she starts to thrash harder, help me hold her," he instructs to anyone nearby. Parham looks around uncertainly as he enters, everything happening quicker than his mind can digest. First his eyes are caught by the writhing Syladris on the ground, then the man kneeling beside him, then at Sandrim, holding a pulsing gemstone. He stays where he is uncertainly, his eyes darting this way and that. "We are told not to meddle in her affairs," One of the bloodguard answers apprehensively, glancing to another of his comrades who then chimes in with "If it's another vision, you should let her finish it in peace." While their eyes may speak of concern, if not awe, as they watch, their bodies remain still, governed by previous orders. Tshepsi does not seem worse for the wear yet, her horns taking the brunt of the hard contact with the floor. "The flesssh growsss, one with ssstone, and one with flesssh doesss ssstone grow..." wheezes the Archmage to her dream world. Her tail whips the ground, thundering away enemies unseen and hands grasp blindly for the nearest aura. The circlet at last clatters free and whirrs solemnly over the white marble. Round and round it goes, oscillating faster and faster until at last it topples. When the last notes of its ringing die out, Tshepsi goes limp, her tongue silent, and pupils fixed on the stone high above. The fleshy tendrils creep back into the cracks, sealed up again in reality. And...she's spent. Motionless, the snowy Syladris may have been mistaken for dead had her aura still not been raging the fiery red and ribs panting frantically from beneath the vest. Sandrim stands still, watching the syladris lying there before shaking his head slowly. "What does she mean?" he asks, before sighing. "Always... so cryptic." Duhnen stares down at her as she finally goes limp, an odd expression on his face. "...wonderful. A fine place to visit," he mutters to himself, reaching to collect the fallen circlet and robe, tucking them under his arm. He glances to Parham briefly, before nodding to Sandrim. "Help me lift her. Grab her...ah...tail." Grab her tail? Category:Logs